Frost and Thaw (gift for nerdywolf)
Title: Frost and Thaw
Author: amethystshard
Recipient: nerdywolf
Pairings: Stiles/Derek
Rating: PG-13
Word Count: 2357
Warnings: Themes of death (but no character death) and grief.
Summary: Stiles brings flowers to his mom for her birthday.
Author's Notes: Happily and excitedly stepping in as a pinch-hitter. The recipient asked for Hurt/Comfort, Angst, Tragedy, and Romance. I tried to weave a little of each into the story. I hope you enjoy it.
Grass crunched under Stiles' feet as he walked through the graveyard. It had rained for hours the night before, the constant tapping of raindrops against his window had kept him up, and today the temperature had dropped just enough to turn the water into frost. Stiles stopped and knelt onto the ground. The cold seeped through the material of his jeans. “Hey, mom.” His hand tightened around the bouquet he held and the plastic around it crinkled. “Happy birthday.” He set the bouquet against the headstone. “Red carnations, your favorite. I know... I bring them every time I visit. Hope you're not sick of them. I could bring lilies or roses next time if you like.” Stiles waited for an answer, none came. It was getting harder and harder every day to remember her voice. “I'm sorry I haven't been by in a while. A lot has happened since my last visit. Stuff you probably wouldn't believe.” Stiles shifted. “But long story short; Werewolves are real. I used to think that was kind of awesome, but now...” Stiles felt his face tighten and blinked to keep his eyes dry. “Dad got hurt.” Stiles could barely choke the words out. “That's why he isn't here with me today.” Stiles brushed his hand over the engraving of his mother's name. “I should have warned him. I should have told him the truth sooner, and then maybe... at least he would have known what he was up against.”
The sheriff had been on duty, responding to a disturbance call. Stiles didn't know the details, just that he'd been thrown into a brick wall and hit his head hard enough to fracture his skull and cause a concussion. The doctor said it was only a linear fracture, which was somehow better than a depressed fracture, and not serious. The concussion was of more concern, which was why they were keeping him for observation. His dad would be fine eventually, but... despite the doctor's words, Stiles' dad's skull had been cracked and as far Stiles was concerned that was pretty fucking serious. Stiles didn't know who he was angrier with, himself or the werewolf that had hurt his dad. Okay... it was definitely the werewolf, and not for the first time he wished he was out there with the others hunting it down. But he'd had to stay to make sure his dad would be okay and then... he'd never missed a birthday and Stiles just couldn't start now no matter what crap was going down. This was one thing Stiles couldn't sacrifice. “I miss you, Mom.”
Stiles sat there silently for a while until a shadow fell over him. He looked up and found Derek standing over him. Stiles probably should have been more startled by the unexpected appearance, especially when he hadn't heard any footsteps approach, but instead he just blinked in mild surprise.
Derek stood there staring at him, presumably waiting for Stiles to make some snarky remark that Stiles was just too exhausted to come up with. Eventually Derek broke first, eyes straying to the headstone. “Scott told me where to find you.” He moved closer, frowning, brow furrowed. “You shouldn't be alone.”
Stiles looked away. He stood, wiping at his now damp knee. “Yeah, I know, new alpha in town, it’s not safe...”
“No, that's not...” Derek placed his hand on Stiles' shoulder. “You shouldn't be alone.” Derek's gaze shifted again to the grave.
Alone. The word echoed in his head and it was like something suddenly popped inside and Stiles' breath hitched. That was the fear that had been growing around him like ivy, slowly tightening until he could barely breathe. If his dad died, Stiles would really be alone. He had no other family, no siblings, and no grandparents. No one.
He supposed Derek knew what that was like. Maybe that was why he came. “Thanks.”
The hand on his shoulder squeezed before letting go. “My parents are here too.” Stiles looked up at that. Derek was staring across the graveyard. “I haven't actually been back since the funeral.”
Stiles knelt down and plucked a carnation from his mom's bouquet (she wouldn't mind). He stood and offered it to Derek. Derek stared at it uncomprehendingly until Stiles nodded his head in the direction Derek had been staring. “Come on, you can introduce me.”
Derek shook his head, but he took the flower. Stiles followed Derek as he weaved a path through the headstones. He stopped in front of a large carved stone marker. It was a joint headstone with what Stiles presumed were Derek's parents' names engraved. Derek was still for a long moment, his eyes distant and unreadable. Stiles remembered how hard going back to see his mom's grave had been that first time. Through the funeral he'd mostly felt numb, like he'd been walking through a dream. It wasn't until later when he saw that grass had begun to sprout over where the dirt had been filled in over her grave that it really hit him. He was never going to see his mom again. She was dead and in her place was a great huge gaping hole through his entire being.
Eventually Derek set the carnation down, centered between the two engraved names. A quick glance around revealed more Hale headstones nearby. Stiles wondered if the fire had left anything of them to bury or if the gravestones were merely symbolic. Stiles couldn't imagine how he would have coped if he'd lost his dad too or if he hadn't had Scott.
Scott had gone with him that first visit, his dad still too broken to face it yet. He'd held his hand too, guy code be damned, and didn't say a word when Stiles cried. Before Stiles could think better of it, he reached out for Derek's hand. Derek's shoulders tensed, but he didn't move away. Stiles laced his fingers between Derek's and squeezed. His heart thumped against his chest as he waited for Derek to react. But before he could wonder if this would be his final act before Derek finally followed through with his threat to rip Stiles' throat out, Derek's hand gently squeezed back.
Stiles waited as Derek silently said whatever he needed to, until a cold wind sent a chill through his body. Derek released his hand and the warmth of it was instantly missed. He watched curiously as Derek removed his leather jacket. He shoved it at Stiles. Stiles tentatively took the jacket, while his mind tried to work out what was happening. It seemed like Derek wanted Stiles to put the jacket on. Because Stiles was cold. Because Derek actually noticed and cared that Stiles was cold. Stiles slipped the jacket on over his red hoodie. It was too big of course; his fingers barely peaked out from the sleeves. But it was warm and Stiles could feel the remnants of Derek's body heat.
Derek didn’t look like he even noticed the cold, even as a snowflake landed on his shoulder. They both looked up. The sky was filling up with a flurry of snow. Derek held up his hand, catching another flake. “We should go.”
Stiles nodded.
The small parking lot was empty except for Stiles' jeep, Derek's Camaro, and an old truck parked off to the side which probably belonged to the groundskeeper. Derek looked almost reluctant as he said, “I should see how Scott and Isaac are doing tracking down the new alpha.”
Stiles scratched the back of his head. “Yeah, I should go check on my dad at the hospital.”
“How is he?”
“Concussion, fractured skull...” Derek's eyes darkened as though he was imagining all the ways he was going to rip apart the alpha that did it once he caught him. It was a sentiment Stiles wasn't about to discourage and twisted as it might be, it made Stiles feel better. “He'll be okay though. Doctor said he should be able to come home soon.”
Derek's murderous glare softened. “That's good.”
“Yeah... Just, if you find the creep? Give him a good kick in the head for me.”
Derek nodded, a dangerous smile curling his lip. “Count on it.”
Stiles made it all the way to the hallway outside his dad's hospital room before noticing that he still had Derek's jacket on or that Derek hadn't asked for it back. Stiles considered leaving it on one of the chairs in the waiting room, then imagined Derek's reaction if it got stolen and promptly changed his mind. His dad was probably still out of it and wouldn't notice anyway.
He heard a woman's laugh as he entered the room. His dad was sitting up in bed smiling at a young nurse. There was a dinner tray set up in front of him and he was poking a spoon at the Jell-O. His head turned towards Stiles and his smile turned wider. “Stiles! Come on in. I was just telling, uh, Mandy here a little known cop fact; no one has ever been murdered while eating lime Jell-O...”
“...Just for making it. Yeah, you've only told that joke like every time you made me Jell-O when I got sick.” Stiles gave his best exasperated look, but really he was pleased that his dad seemed to be doing so much better.
The nurse excused herself and Stiles glared at her as she left. She had obviously been flirting with his dad if she'd been laughing at his lame jokes and in no universe would Stiles ever end up calling a twenty-something named Mandy mom. In an ideal world, if his dad had to remarry someone, it'd be Scott's mom. Because then he and Scott would be brothers. Sadly that dream died once it was made clear Mrs. McCall thought Stiles was a bad influence on her son and his dad got his ear chewed off one too many times about it and now avoided her like the plague whenever possible.
His dad raised an eyebrow. “New jacket?”
Crap. “Yeah, thought I'd try a new look.”
“It's a little big.”
Stile plopped down into a chair next to the bed. “I'm just borrowing it.” He shrugged, picking nonexistent lint off his pants.
“Looks like I'm going to be a free man tomorrow. I'll need you to pick me up in the morning, so no sleeping in. I don't want to be here any later than I have to.”
Stiles was relieved, both for his dad coming home and that he didn't ask Stiles anymore questions about the jacket. They chatted a bit more until his dad noticed the snow falling outside and shooed Stiles home before the roads got too slick.
The house was too quiet. Stiles zapped a microwave dinner that was only slightly more appetizing than hospital food. He sat on the couch, food in lap, and settled in to catch up on some of the shows filling up the DVR. In retrospect, Walking Dead may not have been the best choice when he was home alone and there was a real life monster on the loose. He considered counteracting it with a sitcom, but the last time Stiles tried that he'd dreamt that the Big Bang Theory cast had been turned into zombies. When zombie-Howard tried to bite Leonard first, Sheldon complained that because he had the higher IQ, his should be the more desirable brain. This had been bizarrely funny until they started crawling out of his TV hungry for more flesh.
So instead Stiles went up to his room, fell back onto his bed, and texted Scott until he dozed off. He dreamt about his dad; that his dad had died. Stiles found himself back at the cemetery, standing over a fresh grave next to his mom's. He felt a hand squeeze his shoulder. He looked back expecting to see Derek. Instead he was met with the haunted eyes and sallow skin of his dead father. “Why, Stiles? Why?”
Stiles woke suddenly. A cold breeze brushed his cheek. Before opening his eyes he realized the window must be open. A hand shook his shoulder.
“Stiles.” The voice was hushed, but unmistakable.
“Derek?” Stiles blinked in confusion. The only light in the room was from the lamp on his desk. It left one side of Derek's face in shadow and the other illuminated by a dim orange glow. “Why are you- are you here for your jacket?” Stiles was still wearing it, but in his defense it was comfortable and warm and had absolutely nothing to do with the way it smelled like wood and ash (like Derek) and that, in some weird way, was comforting.
“What? No.” Derek glanced down like he was just noticing it. “It's the alpha.”
Suddenly Stiles was fully awake and sitting up. “What? Where? Here?”
Derek grabbed Stiles' shoulders, stopping him from scrambling out of bed. He shook his head. “I found him.” Derek's dark, steady gaze said the rest. “He won't be hurting anyone else.”
Stiles breathed a sigh of relief and relaxed. “Thanks.”
Derek nodded. He stayed there, staring, until Stiles raised a questioning brow. “My jacket.”
Stiles' eyes widened. “Right.” He quickly, if reluctantly, removed it and handed it back to Derek. “Its, uh, a nice jacket,” Stiles said lamely.
Derek slipped it back on. He tugged at the collar, sniffing it. “It smells like you now.”
Stiles was entirely too tired to know how to respond to that. “Uh, sorry?”
Derek shrugged. “It's fine.” Derek didn't say anymore, but he didn't leave either.
“Was there something else?”
Derek's jaw clenched, before he swallowed hard. His mouth opened, but it was a moment before he actually spoke. “I was thinking... Next time you go to the cemetery...”
Stiles nodded. “Yeah.”
Derek's shoulders relaxed. On his way out the window, he paused and said, “See you around, Stiles.” The light must have been playing tricks on his eyes, because Stiles could have sworn he saw a smile. After a dumbfounded moment of staring out an empty window, he got up and closed it. He touched a hand to the cold glass. “Night, Derek.”
Author: amethystshard
Recipient: nerdywolf
Pairings: Stiles/Derek
Rating: PG-13
Word Count: 2357
Warnings: Themes of death (but no character death) and grief.
Summary: Stiles brings flowers to his mom for her birthday.
Author's Notes: Happily and excitedly stepping in as a pinch-hitter. The recipient asked for Hurt/Comfort, Angst, Tragedy, and Romance. I tried to weave a little of each into the story. I hope you enjoy it.
Grass crunched under Stiles' feet as he walked through the graveyard. It had rained for hours the night before, the constant tapping of raindrops against his window had kept him up, and today the temperature had dropped just enough to turn the water into frost. Stiles stopped and knelt onto the ground. The cold seeped through the material of his jeans. “Hey, mom.” His hand tightened around the bouquet he held and the plastic around it crinkled. “Happy birthday.” He set the bouquet against the headstone. “Red carnations, your favorite. I know... I bring them every time I visit. Hope you're not sick of them. I could bring lilies or roses next time if you like.” Stiles waited for an answer, none came. It was getting harder and harder every day to remember her voice. “I'm sorry I haven't been by in a while. A lot has happened since my last visit. Stuff you probably wouldn't believe.” Stiles shifted. “But long story short; Werewolves are real. I used to think that was kind of awesome, but now...” Stiles felt his face tighten and blinked to keep his eyes dry. “Dad got hurt.” Stiles could barely choke the words out. “That's why he isn't here with me today.” Stiles brushed his hand over the engraving of his mother's name. “I should have warned him. I should have told him the truth sooner, and then maybe... at least he would have known what he was up against.”
The sheriff had been on duty, responding to a disturbance call. Stiles didn't know the details, just that he'd been thrown into a brick wall and hit his head hard enough to fracture his skull and cause a concussion. The doctor said it was only a linear fracture, which was somehow better than a depressed fracture, and not serious. The concussion was of more concern, which was why they were keeping him for observation. His dad would be fine eventually, but... despite the doctor's words, Stiles' dad's skull had been cracked and as far Stiles was concerned that was pretty fucking serious. Stiles didn't know who he was angrier with, himself or the werewolf that had hurt his dad. Okay... it was definitely the werewolf, and not for the first time he wished he was out there with the others hunting it down. But he'd had to stay to make sure his dad would be okay and then... he'd never missed a birthday and Stiles just couldn't start now no matter what crap was going down. This was one thing Stiles couldn't sacrifice. “I miss you, Mom.”
Stiles sat there silently for a while until a shadow fell over him. He looked up and found Derek standing over him. Stiles probably should have been more startled by the unexpected appearance, especially when he hadn't heard any footsteps approach, but instead he just blinked in mild surprise.
Derek stood there staring at him, presumably waiting for Stiles to make some snarky remark that Stiles was just too exhausted to come up with. Eventually Derek broke first, eyes straying to the headstone. “Scott told me where to find you.” He moved closer, frowning, brow furrowed. “You shouldn't be alone.”
Stiles looked away. He stood, wiping at his now damp knee. “Yeah, I know, new alpha in town, it’s not safe...”
“No, that's not...” Derek placed his hand on Stiles' shoulder. “You shouldn't be alone.” Derek's gaze shifted again to the grave.
Alone. The word echoed in his head and it was like something suddenly popped inside and Stiles' breath hitched. That was the fear that had been growing around him like ivy, slowly tightening until he could barely breathe. If his dad died, Stiles would really be alone. He had no other family, no siblings, and no grandparents. No one.
He supposed Derek knew what that was like. Maybe that was why he came. “Thanks.”
The hand on his shoulder squeezed before letting go. “My parents are here too.” Stiles looked up at that. Derek was staring across the graveyard. “I haven't actually been back since the funeral.”
Stiles knelt down and plucked a carnation from his mom's bouquet (she wouldn't mind). He stood and offered it to Derek. Derek stared at it uncomprehendingly until Stiles nodded his head in the direction Derek had been staring. “Come on, you can introduce me.”
Derek shook his head, but he took the flower. Stiles followed Derek as he weaved a path through the headstones. He stopped in front of a large carved stone marker. It was a joint headstone with what Stiles presumed were Derek's parents' names engraved. Derek was still for a long moment, his eyes distant and unreadable. Stiles remembered how hard going back to see his mom's grave had been that first time. Through the funeral he'd mostly felt numb, like he'd been walking through a dream. It wasn't until later when he saw that grass had begun to sprout over where the dirt had been filled in over her grave that it really hit him. He was never going to see his mom again. She was dead and in her place was a great huge gaping hole through his entire being.
Eventually Derek set the carnation down, centered between the two engraved names. A quick glance around revealed more Hale headstones nearby. Stiles wondered if the fire had left anything of them to bury or if the gravestones were merely symbolic. Stiles couldn't imagine how he would have coped if he'd lost his dad too or if he hadn't had Scott.
Scott had gone with him that first visit, his dad still too broken to face it yet. He'd held his hand too, guy code be damned, and didn't say a word when Stiles cried. Before Stiles could think better of it, he reached out for Derek's hand. Derek's shoulders tensed, but he didn't move away. Stiles laced his fingers between Derek's and squeezed. His heart thumped against his chest as he waited for Derek to react. But before he could wonder if this would be his final act before Derek finally followed through with his threat to rip Stiles' throat out, Derek's hand gently squeezed back.
Stiles waited as Derek silently said whatever he needed to, until a cold wind sent a chill through his body. Derek released his hand and the warmth of it was instantly missed. He watched curiously as Derek removed his leather jacket. He shoved it at Stiles. Stiles tentatively took the jacket, while his mind tried to work out what was happening. It seemed like Derek wanted Stiles to put the jacket on. Because Stiles was cold. Because Derek actually noticed and cared that Stiles was cold. Stiles slipped the jacket on over his red hoodie. It was too big of course; his fingers barely peaked out from the sleeves. But it was warm and Stiles could feel the remnants of Derek's body heat.
Derek didn’t look like he even noticed the cold, even as a snowflake landed on his shoulder. They both looked up. The sky was filling up with a flurry of snow. Derek held up his hand, catching another flake. “We should go.”
Stiles nodded.
The small parking lot was empty except for Stiles' jeep, Derek's Camaro, and an old truck parked off to the side which probably belonged to the groundskeeper. Derek looked almost reluctant as he said, “I should see how Scott and Isaac are doing tracking down the new alpha.”
Stiles scratched the back of his head. “Yeah, I should go check on my dad at the hospital.”
“How is he?”
“Concussion, fractured skull...” Derek's eyes darkened as though he was imagining all the ways he was going to rip apart the alpha that did it once he caught him. It was a sentiment Stiles wasn't about to discourage and twisted as it might be, it made Stiles feel better. “He'll be okay though. Doctor said he should be able to come home soon.”
Derek's murderous glare softened. “That's good.”
“Yeah... Just, if you find the creep? Give him a good kick in the head for me.”
Derek nodded, a dangerous smile curling his lip. “Count on it.”
Stiles made it all the way to the hallway outside his dad's hospital room before noticing that he still had Derek's jacket on or that Derek hadn't asked for it back. Stiles considered leaving it on one of the chairs in the waiting room, then imagined Derek's reaction if it got stolen and promptly changed his mind. His dad was probably still out of it and wouldn't notice anyway.
He heard a woman's laugh as he entered the room. His dad was sitting up in bed smiling at a young nurse. There was a dinner tray set up in front of him and he was poking a spoon at the Jell-O. His head turned towards Stiles and his smile turned wider. “Stiles! Come on in. I was just telling, uh, Mandy here a little known cop fact; no one has ever been murdered while eating lime Jell-O...”
“...Just for making it. Yeah, you've only told that joke like every time you made me Jell-O when I got sick.” Stiles gave his best exasperated look, but really he was pleased that his dad seemed to be doing so much better.
The nurse excused herself and Stiles glared at her as she left. She had obviously been flirting with his dad if she'd been laughing at his lame jokes and in no universe would Stiles ever end up calling a twenty-something named Mandy mom. In an ideal world, if his dad had to remarry someone, it'd be Scott's mom. Because then he and Scott would be brothers. Sadly that dream died once it was made clear Mrs. McCall thought Stiles was a bad influence on her son and his dad got his ear chewed off one too many times about it and now avoided her like the plague whenever possible.
His dad raised an eyebrow. “New jacket?”
Crap. “Yeah, thought I'd try a new look.”
“It's a little big.”
Stile plopped down into a chair next to the bed. “I'm just borrowing it.” He shrugged, picking nonexistent lint off his pants.
“Looks like I'm going to be a free man tomorrow. I'll need you to pick me up in the morning, so no sleeping in. I don't want to be here any later than I have to.”
Stiles was relieved, both for his dad coming home and that he didn't ask Stiles anymore questions about the jacket. They chatted a bit more until his dad noticed the snow falling outside and shooed Stiles home before the roads got too slick.
The house was too quiet. Stiles zapped a microwave dinner that was only slightly more appetizing than hospital food. He sat on the couch, food in lap, and settled in to catch up on some of the shows filling up the DVR. In retrospect, Walking Dead may not have been the best choice when he was home alone and there was a real life monster on the loose. He considered counteracting it with a sitcom, but the last time Stiles tried that he'd dreamt that the Big Bang Theory cast had been turned into zombies. When zombie-Howard tried to bite Leonard first, Sheldon complained that because he had the higher IQ, his should be the more desirable brain. This had been bizarrely funny until they started crawling out of his TV hungry for more flesh.
So instead Stiles went up to his room, fell back onto his bed, and texted Scott until he dozed off. He dreamt about his dad; that his dad had died. Stiles found himself back at the cemetery, standing over a fresh grave next to his mom's. He felt a hand squeeze his shoulder. He looked back expecting to see Derek. Instead he was met with the haunted eyes and sallow skin of his dead father. “Why, Stiles? Why?”
Stiles woke suddenly. A cold breeze brushed his cheek. Before opening his eyes he realized the window must be open. A hand shook his shoulder.
“Stiles.” The voice was hushed, but unmistakable.
“Derek?” Stiles blinked in confusion. The only light in the room was from the lamp on his desk. It left one side of Derek's face in shadow and the other illuminated by a dim orange glow. “Why are you- are you here for your jacket?” Stiles was still wearing it, but in his defense it was comfortable and warm and had absolutely nothing to do with the way it smelled like wood and ash (like Derek) and that, in some weird way, was comforting.
“What? No.” Derek glanced down like he was just noticing it. “It's the alpha.”
Suddenly Stiles was fully awake and sitting up. “What? Where? Here?”
Derek grabbed Stiles' shoulders, stopping him from scrambling out of bed. He shook his head. “I found him.” Derek's dark, steady gaze said the rest. “He won't be hurting anyone else.”
Stiles breathed a sigh of relief and relaxed. “Thanks.”
Derek nodded. He stayed there, staring, until Stiles raised a questioning brow. “My jacket.”
Stiles' eyes widened. “Right.” He quickly, if reluctantly, removed it and handed it back to Derek. “Its, uh, a nice jacket,” Stiles said lamely.
Derek slipped it back on. He tugged at the collar, sniffing it. “It smells like you now.”
Stiles was entirely too tired to know how to respond to that. “Uh, sorry?”
Derek shrugged. “It's fine.” Derek didn't say anymore, but he didn't leave either.
“Was there something else?”
Derek's jaw clenched, before he swallowed hard. His mouth opened, but it was a moment before he actually spoke. “I was thinking... Next time you go to the cemetery...”
Stiles nodded. “Yeah.”
Derek's shoulders relaxed. On his way out the window, he paused and said, “See you around, Stiles.” The light must have been playing tricks on his eyes, because Stiles could have sworn he saw a smile. After a dumbfounded moment of staring out an empty window, he got up and closed it. He touched a hand to the cold glass. “Night, Derek.”